


Moons Over Albuquerque

by SegaBarrett



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Community: cottoncandy_bingo, Four Days Out AU, Gen, Money
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:05:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1882737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walt and Jesse get their dinner at Denny's after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moons Over Albuquerque

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Breaking Bad, and I make no money from this.
> 
> A/N: Written for cottoncandy bingo, prompt: "money".

“You know, they still haven’t brought me my Sprite.” 

Walt looked up at Jesse’s words, shaking his head with a sort of indulgent fondness. Normally, Jesse drove him nuts. But not today. Today, after they’d completed the best cook so far, the greatest ones of their lives – of Walt’s ever-decreasing life, he couldn’t think of a better place to be than in a booth at Denny’s with Jesse Pinkman, wondering whether the waitstaff had completely forgotten about their order or had been somehow strategically mass-murdered back in the kitchen instead.

At least they had remembered to bring Walt his Coke.

Walt had a strange feeling of lightness about him. If he died right this moment, he had full faith that Jesse would give his share to Skyler and the kids… He would never meet Holly, and that much was a tragedy that would hang over him until the end, but at least his little girl would never want for anything, wouldn’t have to struggle in life. His wife could pay the bills, his son could go to a good college.

And the young man sitting across from him would be partially to thank for that. 

“Well, why don’t you ask them again, Jesse? I mean, they’re waitstaff, but they aren’t mind-readers.”

“Yeah, but don’t they walk by and, you know, see the one guy who doesn’t have a drink and say, ‘hey, look at that guy without a drink, why doesn’t he have a drink?’”

“Or you could raise your hand and say, ‘You know, I’m sorry, but I think you forgot my Sprite.’”

“Yeah, if you want to play Mr. Manners like that, Mr. White. That’s not how I roll, yo.”

“Well then it appears you may be rolling sans Sprite, Jesse, because I’m not going to fix the issue for you.”

Jesse snorted and sat back in his chair, “slouching” as Walt would have called it in class. The kid was ridiculous, but Walt couldn’t deny that he was growing on him, even if he had to pull his rear out of the fire more than once already. He remembered Jesse complaining about the “workstation”, mocking it, and arguing with him about where to put the keys (Jesse had had a few suggestions for where Walt could have put them) and felt a twinge of sadness that he probably wouldn’t be around for many more of these. The tests would come back and say what Walt knew they would, and then it would be the end. He’d have to start closing doors, and Jesse’s would have to be the first – he couldn’t risk Skyler finding out about what he was up to, not so late in the game. She would understand one day, but Walt didn’t want to be there when she did. He couldn’t bear to disappoint her, and that seemed like the thing he had been doing for most of their marriage.

_That’s the credit card we don’t use._

Something that it was hard, nay, impossible, to imagine Jesse saying to him – the other way around, on the other hand…

Walt pictured a scene of domestic bliss in which he ordered around and argued with Jesse Pinkman all day. It seemed surpisingly sweet. 

“Yo, bitch, I’m starving,” Jesse complained. 

“Patience is a virtue, Jesse.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t virtuous.”

“Here’s your food,” the waitress told them, looking at Walt with far more interest than she looked at Jesse as she dropped off the two dishes.

“My young compadre here seems to have had his Sprite neglected,” Walt spoke up with a sideways glance at Jesse.

The waitress smiled.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” She looked at him. “You should have said something.” She glided away.

“You know, Skyler was a waitress when I met her,” Walt mused. 

“If you’re here to pick up chicks, count me dead, yo,” Jesse replied, “That’s something I want to see never. That mental image makes me believe in Hell.”

Walt let out a bemused sigh.

He’d find out soon enough whether Jesse was right on that. But maybe, if there was a Heaven at least, he’d find Jesse Pinkman again in it, slouching and complaining about his Sprite.

It made everything a little easier. He picked up his fork.


End file.
